


The Doctor Doesn’t Dance

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Dancing, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Here we go, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Music in the TARDIS, Pet Names, TARDIS hates the master, Telepathy, The Master is annoying, flustered doctor, he definitely has a thing for praise and you can’t change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: But the Master does.“The Master rolled his eyes. “I have a thing for you,” he deadpanned, and the Doctor stared at him in apparent shock. The Master stepped in until their noses almost brushed and dropped his voice to a murmur. “So take a fucking hint and do something about it.”
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 119





	The Doctor Doesn’t Dance

**Author's Note:**

> I heard this song, and started this fic a loonnng time ago. I found it now, edited and finished it.   
> I hope it’s not a monstrosity because I’m posting it haha
> 
> A note: I haven’t watched classic who, but I know enough to know that there is a fan-accepted name for the Master and the Doctor knows it. I just decided for my own purposes that the Master doesn’t know the Doctor’s name (yet), because I’m a sucker for loved ones finding it out when they fully bond like getting married. So. There’s that. 
> 
> If you liked it, pls comment, they make my day :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Traveling with the Doctor could be so utterly _boring_.

Sure, the times when they actually landed on some poor planet that needed saving were a bit fun (though the Master was hardly allowed to do a thing that he really wanted to do), but the bits in between? Those were nearly intolerable. The TARDIS was still acting like a bitch to him and he couldn’t access half of the rooms he wanted. The main room with the controls might have been entertaining, but the Doctor spent all of his time tinkering with things and none of his time with the Master.

So he was stuck, sitting here, doing nothing.

How _exciting_ it was to be the Doctor’s companion.

On a particular day, he was seated in a chair by the controls, feet propped up between buttons and levers (much to the TARDIS’ annoyance). The Doctor was working, as usual, a few feet away, sonic screwdriver out and a concentrated line between his brows. The Master looked on, half-asleep. He was in the perfect position for a nap, actually, slouching in his chair, in his soft black hoodie. But he knew he wouldn’t be permitted sleep, not with this mind. So he was forced to watch as the Doctor worked.

_There has got to be more to do on this godforsaken ship._

He glanced up in dim interest as the Doctor’s work brought him closer. He dutifully ignored the Master as he aimed the sonic at a screw to turn it loose. The Master frowned.

The Doctor reached for a button next to the Master’s foot. Feeling childish, the Master edged his foot over until it covered the button.

It spoke volumes of how used to these antics the Doctor was when all he did was sigh and straighten up. He looked to the Master with a flat gaze and the Master smiled back innocently. “What?”

“Are you going to move?” the Doctor asked.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” The Master shrugged with a shoulder, folding his arms over his chest.

The Doctor gestured tiredly to the Master’s leg. “Your foot.”

“What about it?”

“It's in the way.”

“Is it?” Leaning forward, the Master gazed down at said foot in feigned confusion.

Heaving another long sigh, the Doctor finally set his screwdriver atop the console and rubbed at his temple. “All right, what do you want?”

“Me?” The Master splayed a hand at his chest, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, you.”

“You're asking what I want?”

“ _Yes_ , what do you want?”

The Master took on a sly smile, batting his eyelashes. “A kiss from my Doctor?” he cooed, drawing out the syllables the way one would speak to a child. 

He barked a laugh when the Doctor just flipped him off. He'd been loosening up little by little with their time together and the Master definitely saw it as a victory. “Well, if it isn’t a kiss you’ll give me, then you’ll just have to do something else,” he decided.

The Doctor dragged a hand over his face. “And that is?”

“Say my name.”

“…no.”

“What? Why?”

“Because when you ask me to, it’s degrading.” The Doctor wrinkled his nose in distaste.

The Master rolled his eyes. Honestly, they’d called each other by their names for centuries—how much of a difference did it really make if he asked first? (Well, it made all the difference to him, and that was the point of it, of course, but the Doctor didn’t need to think of it like that.) “Aw, c’mon, Doc. You’re never any fun anymore.”

“Don’t call me that,” the Doctor replied at once. “And I’m not supposed to be fun, I’m supposed to be fixing…problems in space and time, and I can’t unless you move your foot.”

“You heard me.” The Master laced his fingers together behind his head. “Either a name or a kiss, and then you can go back to work like the good little Time Lord you are.”

The Doctor stood still for a minute or two, face unreadable. He seemed to be considering his options. Settling down farther in his chair, the Master waited.

Finally, the Doctor came to a decision. With a resigned huff, he braced a hand on the back of the Master’s chair and leaned over him. _Wait, he’s actually going to—?_ The Master straightened up in his seat, startled, and hearts suddenly beating all out of sync. Instinct had him draw back and catch his breath as the Doctor bent closer.

When they were close enough for the Doctor’s wild hair to just graze the Master’s forehead, the Doctor gave the chair a hard shove.

The Master yelped as he was sent screeching backward across the floor, just enough for his feet to fall off of the controls. Regaining his balance, he gave the Doctor a wide-eyed look of outrage. The Doctor simply cocked a brow as though to say, _you were asking for it_ , and turned back to his work with a curl to his lips.

Smug son of a bitch. Grumbling under his breath, the Master stood and tugged the hem of his hoodie down into place. “I fucking hate you,” he announced.

“Oh, really? I hadn’t known.”

“Shut up.”

Sulking, the Master shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and watched the Doctor get back to work. Just as focused and shut off as ever. The Master glanced around the interior of the TARDIS. There wasn’t much else around here to do besides sleep or piss off the Doctor, and he’d already tried both of those.

Well, he supposed there wasn’t any harm in trying harder.

Quiet and slow, he sauntered up to the consoleand made sure to keep away from the Doctor. Wandering over to the very entertaining new button he’d discovered a week ago, the Master reached out and pushed it.

Sultry piano notes burst to life around them and the Doctor straightened again. His eyes went immediately to the Master. Bless his hearts.

“Master,” the Doctor warned.

Stalking around toward him, the Master dramatically spoke along with the words over the speakers. “ _See baby, I know you done had your share of girls…”_

“Master.”

“ _But I am more than confident you won’t ever have to search in these streets for affection—”_

“Oh my god.”

“— _I got you.”_

“No.”

And then the lyrics were blasting from the speakers, the Master was fucking dancing, and the Doctor buried his face in his hands.

_What kind of girl you like?_

_I know my looks can be deceiving._

_Tell me, am I your type?_

_My main goal is to please ya._

_What’s on the schedule tonight?_

_Am I the reason you’ll be treating?_

_I hope you have an appetite._

_So tell me will you come and spend the night?_

Sidling closer, the Master reached an arm out to the Doctor. He was shameless in the way he moved along with the rhythm of the song; he loved to dance, but it wasn’t fun to do alone. It was _unbelievably_ fun to do it when it irritated people.

The Doctor took one look at his outstretched hand and shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Oooh, somebody’s shyyy…”

“I have work to do.”

“Don’t be an ass, Doctor, get over here.”

“I’d really rather not.”

_My love is like wo_

_My kiss is like wo_

_My touch is like wo_

_My sex is like—_

“What _is_ this?!” the Doctor demanded, almost frantically searching for the OFF button.

The Master paused in his dancing long enough to laugh. “Don’t ask me, it’s not my TARDIS!” he crowed.

The Doctor’s face was a bright shade of red, hands raking over buttons and finding nothing. At one point, he knocked into something that sent the volume even higher. Cursing, he almost fell over and the Master snorted. The Doctor shot him a glare. “Turn it off,” he snapped.

“No,” the Master sniffed.

“Master, turn it off.”

“Don’t want to.” Lifting his chin haughtily, the Master went back to his casual sway along with the music. “I rather like this piece. Relate to it very much.”

“In what way?!”

“— _my ass is like wo, my body’s like wo, and you’re kissin’ it, so what you think of—”_

“Anything else!” the Doctor yelled, tossing his hands up. “You could’ve picked literally anything else from any universe to play!”

“Hey, I might not like your little human pets, but they know how to make a good song.” The Master sent the Doctor a smirk, all flirt, and the Doctor glanced upward as though praying for strength. _Oh, we’ll have none of that._ Sidling up beside him, the Master caught the Doctor by the tie and tugged him in. A tiny gasp escaped the Doctor and he snagged the edge of the console to stop himself from crashing into the Master. He blushed even more, if possible, and the Master grinned.“Seriously, Doc, what happened to your famous sense of adventure?” he crooned, eyes half-mast and thumb tracing a line down the Doctor’s tie.

The Doctor swallowed. “This isn’t the sort of ‘adventure’ I had in mind,” he returned. “And don’t call me that.”

“What d’you want me to call you?” The Master moved in closer, crowding the Doctor. The Doctor’s gaze raked over the length of him, then darted back up to his face, guilty. The Master basked in it. The Doctor’s attention flitted from one thing to the next and the fact that the Master had caught it and kept it with raunchy lyrics had him glowing. Sappy, pathetic little Time Lord.

“So?” he prodded, tipping his head to the side.

The Doctor blinked a few times. “So what?”

“What d’you want me to call you?” He repeated the phrase in a low tone and dared to reach up, tracing up the back of the Doctor’s neck. He felt him shiver. “Well, pretty Doctor?”

Leaning back into his hand, the Doctor made a weak little noise. His eyes widened in embarrassment as the Master chuckled. He gave the Doctor a withering look. “Really? That’s what does it for you?”

“I never said it did a— _anything_ for me.”

“Didn’t have to, it was written all over your face, honey.”

“Don’t.”

“Oh, right. You prefer ‘pretty.’ Should’ve known you had a thing for praise.” The Master arched a brow.

“And you have a thing for being obnoxious.”

The Master rolled his eyes. “I have a thing for _you_ ,” he deadpanned, and the Doctor stared at him in apparent shock. The Master stepped in until their noses almost brushed and dropped his voice to a murmur. “So take a fucking hint and do something about it.”

The Doctor’s eyes fixed on his mouth and yep, that’ll do it. Surging forward, the Master pressed their mouths together before he lost his nerve. There was a gasp against his lips, the Doctor’s hands shooting up to the Master’s shoulders. Then the Master bit gently at his lower lip and he melted. Hands grasping at his sleeves to pull him closer, kissing back hungrily.

The horrid music still echoed around them as the Master wrapped his arms around the Doctor’s neck and let a thread of his mind cross between them. The drums came first, held back as much as he could manage. The Doctor stiffened against him, but only tried to get closer, bodies flush together now. He broke the kiss to lean their foreheads together and opened his own mind to the Master. Soothing waves of emotion flooded into the bond and the Master could feel the attempt to smooth over the beat of the drums. He bit his lip, almost moaning from even the slight relief of it. It left him breathless.

“Let me have it,” the Doctor said softly.

The Master shook his head. “‘S too much. Not yet.” _Not until the bond is strong enough to hold them down. Until you trust me._

“Then soon.” The Doctor nuzzled their noses together, his words a sure promise.

The Master pushed farther with the quieter part of him, into the warmth and pain of the Doctor’s consciousness. He nudged at a muffled thought, deep down and locked up. He grinned. “Let me have it,” he echoed.

The Doctor chuckled. “Y’know I can’t. You’ll have to wait for that too.”

“You know mine,” the Master reminded him, hushed.

The Doctor’s gaze softened. “I’d never call you it now. Until we—“ He suddenly clamped his mouth shut, face burning.

The Master’s grin broadened. “You suggesting we’re gonna get married, Doctor?”

“N—no, not at all! I just assumed that— Well, you know we’re close and—“

“Oh, we’re close now?”

The Doctor smiled at that and ran a hand over the Master’s hair. “We always have been.”

“Don’t push it, pretty thing,” the Master told him gruffly. “I’m not gonna confess my undying love or some shit just because you sucked it up and kissed me.”

“You need to stop calling me pretty.”

“Oh, you love it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You admit it!”

Okay, it wasn’t such a waste of a day, after all.

He bet _Toxic_ would get him that name in a week.


End file.
